


flying high on the wings of cheap wine

by Aja



Category: Country Music RPF, Glam Rock RPF, Lady Gaga (Musician), RPF - Fandom, Rock Music RPF, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Erotica, F/F, Femslash, Ficlet, First Time, RPF, RPS - Freeform, realwomenfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-11
Updated: 2010-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the realwomenfest community on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	flying high on the wings of cheap wine

Taylor's parents have always said she could be anything she wanted to be, but it's not until she's got Gaga down on her knees, one fingernail gliding up the back of Taylor's calf, that she gets just how right they were.

She coaxes Gaga's head back, gently, tugging at the beautiful thick clumps of her hair, still bound up in the giant pink Hello Kitty bow she walked in wearing. "Baby," Gaga purrs, trailing her finger still higher, til Taylor can feel it not-quite-touching the curve of her ass. "This is your last chance to tell me what you want, or else I'm just going to make it up as I go along."

Taylor grins and starts to something sufficiently sexy--then ends up trying to stifle a giggle, because, seriously, she'll sound _ridiculous_. She always feels like a little girl next to Gaga, which is stupid, they're _the same age_ , but Gaga's face just sharpens into a wide smile, like Taylor's just given her something sweet. It's enough to make Taylor try again.

"Okay, stand up," she says. Gaga, obediently, gets to her feet, planting herself so close their hips brush. _God, that's hot_ , Taylor thinks, but before she's done more than process the heat of Gaga's skin, Gaga puts her finger over Taylor's bottom lips and traces. Taylor gives her a narrow look, but Gaga just follows up with a kiss, and the taste of her lipstick shorts out Taylor's brain for a moment.

It's a slow kiss, lingering, and heady. Taylor teases Gaga's mouth open with her lips, steady and relaxed, and thinks that Gaga is her reward for getting over herself and learning to let go. She wonders what would happen if she put that into a song. The thought makes her giggle again, and Gaga pulls back. "You're so sexy when you're like this," she says, and slips her hand beneath Taylor's spangled t-shirt.

"I'm not tipsy, I'm not," Taylor insists, because she only had a little wine, it hasn't gone to her head yet, surely. "It's just--" and then she stops short before finishing, "you."

Gaga purses her lips as if she knows. "Just what, baby?" she asks, and then she reaches underneath Taylor's bra to stroke her nipple once, firmly, and the touch is so direct and sudden that Taylor gasps and arches all over. Then she gasps again at her own gasps, which makes Gaga break into a fond laugh. "Jesus," she says. "Come here--" and then she's pulling Taylor's shirt over her head and tugging her against her all the way, her hands chasing down Taylor's back to her ass, slipping past her shorts before Taylor can form a word, and all the noises Taylor makes in response are lost in the heat of Gaga's mouth. She mumbles something lost forever, but probably totally incoherent anyway, and sinks into the kiss. Gaga moans and pushes her back onto the nearest surface, which turns out to be the ubiquitous hotel suite couch. Taylor falls backwards onto it, still feeling breathless, and Gaga swings one leg across her hips and pins her down just by kissing her again. Taylor reaches everywhere she can find, arching up and gasping again, because she saw how much Gaga liked that, and maybe she likes it, too. "God, honey," Gaga murmurs, her lips sliding down the curve of Taylor's throat, "you know I could do this for hours."

"Then why don't you?" Taylor asks, lifting her leg to curl around the base of Gaga's spine. She tugs Gaga up for another kiss, mouth to mouth, deep and hot and wet, and by the time Gaga pulls away with a soft moan, Taylor's already arching up, pulsing towards Gaga, searching for friction, contact, anything she can get.

"You really wanna wait that long, sweet T?" Gaga says, amused. Her voice and her skin both are smooth like marmalade, and Taylor gives up fighting the urge to peel off what's less a shirt and more like a strategically placed layer of spangles. Gaga hisses when Taylor reaches up and unhooks her bra, and her breasts fall forward to tease the underside of Taylor's own. They're perfect and full, irresistible, and warm when Taylor presses her tongue against Gaga's nipple. She flicks, then licks, and Gaga shivers and rocks towards her, pressing her hips hard against Taylor--just what she wants.

"Who said anything about waiting?" she says, and reluctantly uncups Gaga's breast to push Gaga's head down towards her waistline. Gaga smiles at her again, all teeth, and nips the curve of Taylor's stomach on her way down. Taylor laughs and untangles the Hello Kitty bow at last, letting it fall to the floor as she wraps her fingers around all that rich beautiful hair. She tugs lightly--Gaga's breath hitches, and Taylor gasps, "God, yes, _please_ \--" when Gaga's fingers find the inside of her thighs and brush lightly against the outside of her lips. She's soaking wet, she can feel it, but she can't stop the rhythmic contracting of her hips--she wants too much. So much. Everything.Gaga leans down and parts the inner folds of Taylor's pussy with her fingers, and Taylor has to let go of Gaga's hair and grip the armrest instead, desperate to hang on to something to keep her from flying off the couch altogether. Gaga murmurs something lost, muffled against Taylor's thighs, and then _licks_ , once, straight up, cold and hot and wet and _there_ all at once, and Taylor really does nearly fly off the couch. "JESUS," she yells, and Gaga laughs again, and says, "okay, hang on, I'm warning you this time," and _does it again_ , and then again, and somehow her hands are bracing Taylor's hips, holding her there so Taylor can't rocket off into the air again, can't really even move much except to arch up towards her mouth for more, and Gaga's tongue is sizzling right along the rim of Taylor's clit where it's so sharp it's almost painful, and her muscles ache from pulsing harder and longer, begging for it without words.

And Gaga knows begging when she sees it, she has to--Taylor wonders how many women--how many _people_ \--she's had like this, taut and helpless, just like Taylor feels. She wonders whether she really can have anything she wants, or if it's Gaga's universe, plain and simple, and Taylor just gets to live in it for a day.

But Gaga is here, for now, her bright pink lips and her smile disappearing out of sight as she slinks her tongue past Taylor's folds and inside of her. Taylor opens for her on cue, lets her in all the way, and there's a bright, rubbery sound that it takes a moment to realize is _her body_ , doing things, making sounds it's never made before. She closes her eyes, enjoying it, enjoying everything, and then Gaga moans, and the hum goes straight over her insides, straight over her clit, and Taylor is _gone_ , flat back, arched hips, vibrating pulsating _score_ , feeling everything inside of her melt away on a series of long low gasps, and her hands reaching blindly for Gaga, anywhere she can reach, for anything she can touch.

"You're somethin' else, sweet T," Gaga murmurs later, tucked up against Taylor's side on the couch. She's stroking Taylor's breast in slow, even movements, Taylor's head tilted back against her arm. Taylor sighs in satistfaction and tugs Gaga's thigh over her own, letting her fingers splay over the rich smooth warmth of Gaga's skin where her hip meets her waist.

"C'mere, and I'll tell you a secret," Taylor tells her, turning her head to look at Gaga dead-on. She's still got that lazy smile--still sharp, but a few degrees off from devious. Taylor wonders what it would take to erase the sharpness altogether.

A moment later, Gaga says, "you can tell me anything," and kisses her, teasing her lower lip until it's slick and sensitive, and Taylor is gasping all over again.

"You're just scratching the surface, baby," she says when she can catch her breath, and winks deliberately when Gaga's gaze flicks up to her face.

Gaga grins all over.

"Then I better keep digging," she says, and pulls Taylor's hand down, down, down.

And all Taylor can think of, around the fascination of watching the play of expressions over Gaga's face--her mouth, her lips, the flush starting in her cheeks--

\--is that maybe, for the first time, she's found something that's _too good to write about_.


End file.
